


Words

by crimsonadvent



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dyslexic Inquisitor, F/M, Fluff, Some angst here and there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 14:13:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4749383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonadvent/pseuds/crimsonadvent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dyslexic! Inquisitor x Solas</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words

The first thing she felt was the soft sheets under her hands. _What had happened?_

The sheer brightness of the sun outside was a bane of existence. She grimaced at the brightness filtering through her window; bathing the rich colors of room gold. 

She let her eyes roam the room, empty. Flickers of memories flashed in her eyes, never the whole picture. She was not going to accomplish anything in this little room of hers. With the grace of a qunari, she tried to sit herself up. Wrong move. The world spun around her, a fierce headache crashing on her. A loud groan escaped her lips and she crumpled back unto the sheets, a ball of agony and whimpering. 

Footsteps thundered around her, heightening the pain. Had she been that loud?

Gentle hands settled her gently back upon the bed. She turned to the figures around her, the worried gazes of her companions heavy on her broken frame. What had truly happened?

"Inquisitor. we... We heard you screaming." The choked words from Dagna had brought her on edge. Her small feet fidgeted beneath her, a nervous symptom.

"W-what h-happened?" The words dribbled from the Inquisitor's lips, a trait uncommon to her. Her shaky hands flew to them, a little unsure of herself; be it the coarse voice from her throat to the stuttering in her speech. 

Cassandra stepped forward, her dark eyes laced with concern. She bent down to give her a less intimidating perspective. "Inquisitor," Her heavy accent was a comfort to the ears, "an incident occurred. You..."

"You were ambushed by Corypheus' archdemon while we were in the Arbor Wilds." She paused, everyone sizing up the situation in their minds, "Fortunately, you were spared of death but... you were not entirely too far off."

Cassandra guided the small archer's shaking hands towards her head, deft fingers caught on an odd material. Guaze? She trailed the pads of her fingertips along the wrappings. It was moist on various places and when she pulled back, crimson stared back at her. She was still bleeding.

Panic surged inside of her, her body shook with fear. She stopped breathing, her eyes wide in alarm. Voices thundered in her ears as the headache pulsed in her mind. There was something truly wrong.

Hands gripped her to the bed, words trying to calm the grief out of her. Cassandra's strained voice called for Solas, or the apothecary, anyone. The Inquisitor could feel a trickle along her cheek, a warm trail down to her chin. The wounds were not healing, she could tell that much.

Various eyes reflected desperation, fear, anxiety; choking the emotions until it was all taken from her. She felt the very air robbed out from her lungs, clawed at her throat. Why wasn't she breathing?!

In her panic, she failed to notice the calm figure who sat by her side. Calloused hands took hold of her own as his azure eyes took in her battered form. Words of a spell from familiar lips washed the errant thoughts of her mind, its gentle caress releasing the tendrils of her pain.

He spoke of rest, of solitude and then there was no more pain to brace but only a cold darkness.

...

The next time she awoke it was night with candles sitting by the corners. The cool breeze flitted through the windows, cooling her skin in its wake.

She pushed on the sheets, a little less painful than she expected. Slowly, she gazed around the room; bare of any presence which she was thankful of.

By the side table, a bottle of elfroot potion and a note scribbled in fine print tied to it. Eager to make do with the injury, her dexterous fingers took the bottle from the perch. She gingerly drank the concoction, appreciating the way the liquid trickled down with warmth. She could feel the potent properties knitting the torn sinews of her muscles. With little else to do in her state, she fiddled around with the exquisitely written note.

She recognized the black ink on the parchment yet...no matter how much she scrunched her face, she could not register the words. Why? Why couldn't she read them? They looked like jumbled characters, swimming in her eyes as if mocking her. In her frustration, she threw the empty bottle at the wall.

"Inquisitor?" It was his cool voice that broke the silence. She covered her face, trying to rid of the concern in his eyes. What was wrong with her? He pried his hands from her face, cradling them in his calloused grip.

"Inquisitor, what is troubling you?"

She looked everywhere, anywhere but his eyes. However she relented, and she drowned in the abyss of his blue eyes. What was it that was trickling down her eyes? She lifted a hand to her cheek, warm liquid trails. Tears?

"I do not understand what happened. I...I can't read Solas. What good am I?" She whispered her pain, unsure if she had the heart to admit her weakness. "I can't read. I can't... can't read. I can't."

His grip tightened around her small hand as she sobbed the loss of her ability to read. She can no longer get the messages from Leliana or the quirky letters from Cullen's right hand. She has become more savage than the standards of the Orlesians. She felt humiliation, here she was, the great Inquisitor; botched up from a mere ambush with an Archdemon and no longer able to read.

He tried to find the right words to say but it pained him. Try as he must, the elf was at a loss. He will never see the way her face brightened at reading Varric's atrocious novels.

No, he could not offer any words for her this time. He closed his eyes, vowing to find a solution to this problem.

...

She walked along the rotunda, eyeing the wonderful colors of the fresco.

A month had passed since then yet she had not recovered the ability to read. Josephine had been more than willing to read the letters, cringing at times but read through all. Leliana was morose at the loss, wondering how to keep the secrecy of her letters but opted to read them out in the long run.

Each one of her companions was helpful, trying everything to anything to return the stolen ability. It was tiring at the start but she couldn't help but appreciate their efforts.

Here she was now, smiling at the elf who had made his time to spend with her. The sharp cries of the ravens above was a soothing melody, comforting her in their death driven cries. She was none too pleased with their presence and their droppings at times but there was little else the Inquisitor could do.

Solas strode to her a small smile upon his face, "Inquisitor, I am in need of your assistance."

"What may I help you with, Solas?" She spoke, happy at the prospect of helping the wizened elf. He guided her to the table, scrolls placed in an organized chaos. Tomes from their adventures around Thedas were used as paperweight as splotches of paint decorated the free space. His hand splayed on one parchment with a neat cursive on it.

"Solas, I can't read anymore. I can't possibly help you on this concern." She stepped away, hurt clawing at her mind. Was he mocking her?

Before she could take any more steps away from the table, his hand took hold of her wrist, trailing his fingers to her palm. He didn't entwine his fingers, only held her hand there. "Trust me, da'len. I will ask of you to keep this scroll. This is only for you and only you can read it."

"How sure are you that I will be able to read?"

There was mirth in his eyes, a certain smugness. "I know you will find the ability to read again."

A sigh escaped her lips, her eyes falling on the fine curves of his writing. They were jumbled in her eyes, lines she never knew and could never understand. Despite the inability, it helped her believe she can overcome this deficit. **Solas believed in her.**

She splayed her palm along the parchment, enjoying the feel of the paper under her skin.

"Can you at least tell me what it says?"

"Where is the fun in that, da'len?"

She sighed but smiled in mischief. Her fingers followed the lines, as best as she could. Hopefully she could read these words,

_Arlath ma, vhenan._


End file.
